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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292835">Do as the Romans Do</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells'>snowbellewells</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:21:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crown Princess Emma is on her first solo goodwill tour, and as much as she wants to do her duty and make her family proud, sometimes she just wish she could live an ordinary life. When she takes the chance to spend a day on her own in Rome, and a lucky chance encounter makes it all the more sweet, will she ever want to return?<br/>A Roman Holiday movie AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Hook | Killian Jones &amp; Emma Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Captain Swan Movie Marathon</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello there! Welcome to my little Roman Holiday-inspired AU for the @captainswanmoviemarathon! There were some scenes from the original movie that I was simply too enamored with not to include, so those I am sure you’ll recognize those, but I’ve also let this version of Killian and Emma wander off on their own when they wish to change the script a bit. I’m envisioning this being about three parts - today’s shorter introduction to set the scene, a larger part two with the bulk of the plot, and then a shorter conclusion to wrap things up. We’ll see how it goes (or if it grows on me beyond that!)  Please enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think…</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Part One</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>*Press Release*</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>From the Royal Italian Embassy this 4th of September, 1953, Princess Emma Ruth </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nolan, Crown Princess of the small nation of Misthavia, only child of Queen</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Margaret Mary Blanchard-Nolan and King Consort David Nolan visits us</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>here in Rome for a brief stop on her first solo goodwill tour. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Already, she has made stops in Copenhagen, Prague, Vienna, and Geneva,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>and will attend a state dinner, tour local businesses, preside over a medal</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>ceremony, christen the children’s wing of a hospital, and hold a press</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>conference in her three days here before heading on to Paris and London</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>to complete her journey across Europe. Lucky indeed are those who</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>have an invite to one of these events and will have a chance to meet</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>the Princess in person!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The receiving line outside the embassy dining room had long since passed from lengthy to trying and on to interminable as Emma prayed her empty stomach would not begin to grumble aloud before she was finally able to find a seat at the head table and at last enjoy the hard-earned meal. As always seemed to be the case at these formal events, meeting “just a select few” somehow turned into glad-handing with a neverending line of people she would never remember or hope to keep straight from one another. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To think she had initially been excited about this particular event! At least she had thought there might be the chance for some entertainment and dancing after dinner. Now that she stood in one place for so long, she was regretting the posh new heels she had paired with her full-skirted ballgown for the occasion. If she ever got to move from her spot again, Emma was not at all sure that her feet would actually support forward motion any longer; they might well be broken inside the three-inch heels.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hoping to do so without being noticed, Emma stealthily shifted most of her weight onto one foot, lifting the other slightly beneath her skirts and flexing her toes in the hope of bringing feeling back to the extremities. She bobbled a bit, but thankfully her press secretary, and closest friend since nursery school, child of palace staff or not, was standing beside her. Surreptitiously, Emma caught Ashley’s arm to steady herself. The other blonde made no comment, merely offered a reassuring sidelong glance and tiny smile without the disapproval that Emma knew she would have received from the Countess on her other side - a retired former nun who had been her main chaperone and minder of all the etiquette and behavior since Emma’s first official public appearance years go.  The Princess could practically see the woman’s pinched disapproving mouth, admonishing eyes and warning tone - even in Mistress Blue’s absence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The end of the receiving line was at last in sight, and Emma let out a breath that she hoped went unnoticed, trying as hard as she could not to let her eyes roll back in her head at the momentary relief she had gained for her aching feet. Intending to put the first one back into its pretty little torture device and flex the other similarly, she continued blindly offering her hand to the passing dignitaries, murmuring greetings and shifting to her other side gingerly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, just as her foot returned to its shoe, a flashbulb went off unexpectedly and much closer than any had been so far.  She blinked, momentarily blinded, and her balance wobbled; the hidden empty shoe tipped over on its side before she could slip her toes back into it. This made her dip unexpectedly to the left, and she felt herself falling, despite all her natural grace and her practiced poise. Cheeks already flushing, Emma’s tongue was too tangle to call out, knowing her one bare foot and her impatient lack of polish was about to be exposed before she even hit the floor. A gasp escaped Ashley on her other side as she realized too late what was happening and tried to catch Emma’s hand, but instead, what arrested her fall was the interception of two warm, firm hands at her elbows, halting the topple which had seemed inevitable only seconds ago.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly braced by the solid forearms in a lean, handsomely suited man standing there before her, Emma blinked, reorienting herself to the fact that he’d spared her a rather embarrassing incident, she wouldn’t be humiliated on all the gossip shows that evening.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Th - Thank you, Sir,” she breathed tremulously, quickly fishing her toes into her shoe and righting it at last before straightening and looking up to meet her rescuer’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bright, crystal blue met her inquisitive green as she did so, a twinkling of mischief enlivened his expression even further against the heavy dark brows and the rather rakish appeal of his unshaven cheeks and jaw. For a moment, the breath nearly rushed from Princess Emma’s lungs again - for a completely different reason.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A gentle chuckle rumbled from this undeniably handsome stranger’s chest as he dipped his chin in the slightest of acknowledging bows. “Think nothing of it, your Majesty. I’m simply glad I was here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded in mute agreement, wincing again at how she’d nearly made herself a laughingstock. It was one of the things she hated most about her life as a monarch - one silly mistake, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, could undo or overshadow so much good, so much hard work in a mere instant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a rather devilish wink, the man before her, bowed his head over her hand, now more delicately cradled in his own larger one and place and brazen kiss to the back of it, his whiskers prickling her skin and sending tingles all along her nerve endings. “After all, it isn’t every day one finds a princess in his debt,” he murmured silkily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She blushed brighter, knowing they were beginning to hold up the line and draw curious attention now, but not wanting him to move on. “Is that so?” she replied with equally humored stealth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed.” He sketched on more quick bow, then added, “Killian Jones, at your service, Princess.  And if you are safely in your shoes once more, I suppose I must be going now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widened even as her fingers released their grip, and he slipped on through the line, while she extended her hand to shake those of the last few people behind him. He had known what happened all the time! Why did that make her heart beat even faster than it had been already?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That night, after a long bath, with her hair brushed, nightgown donned, and her legs tucked under the blankets, Princess Emma still felt her fingers tingling from the remembered grip of Jones’ hand, even as she listened to the Countess’ long list of the next day’s engagements. Emma tried not to shudder as she noticed that once again nearly every moment was spoken for, every word and action, and even thought, seemed already determined for her. That near-fall and the following encounter had been the most excitement she could remember in her meticulously programmed, rote, respectable, predictable life of duty.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What would it be like to simply walk out of such an event, as Jones and all the other attendees had done, and have it simply be over? To return to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> life? To determine what one wanted to do for oneself, and have no watching eyes to judge or weight the following movements. She could hardly imagine such freedom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Emma was finally left alone for the night, she knew she needed to sleep. According to the schedule that had just been droned into her ear, she had an early morning before her. Yet, sleep felt the furthest thing from her mind. Eventually, she threw the covers off and hopped back out of bed, crossing the sumptuous room provided to her by her Roman hosts and gazing out the window to the River Tiber below in the distance. Music and lights reached out to her beguilingly despite the hour, and she wished she could be in the midst of whatever celebration was happening there, a part of the laughter and dancing and raucous joy she could only imagine from the echoes that reached her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was not an unprecedented longing, but one that struck her more acutely than ever this night. She was going to have this experience while she had the chance. Mind made up as abruptly as the moment presented itself, Emma flew from the window to her suitcase, quickly shedding her nightgown and putting on her most understated skirt, blouse, and espadrilles. With hardly a look back, shew as soon perched on the window ledge, preparing to climb down the fire escape of the old, sturdy building she was staying in without risk of alerting any of her numerous attendants and guardians.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just one day to herself, to live as she chose,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Emma vowed, closing her eyes for a moment and then surging forward. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Then it’s back to what’s expected, what I’ve always known will be my life…’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>As she reached the ground and then slipped through the embassy gates out into the night air and the excitement of a foreign city, Princess Emma Ruth Nolan felt like someone else entirely. Like someone who could breath freely for the first time in her life.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crown Princess Emma is on her first solo goodwill tour, and as much as she wants to do her duty and make her family proud, sometimes she just wish she could live an ordinary life. When she takes the chance to spend a day on her own in Rome, and a lucky chance encounter makes it all the more sweet, will she ever want to return?</p>
<p>A Roman Holiday movie AU</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, this took longer than I would have hoped, but hopefully progress is still progress, and those of you still reading this "Roman Holiday" AU will enjoy part two. You might also notice that my plan of just three parts has been extended to four (but hopefully you won't mind that change so much... ;)</p>
<p>As always, I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Part Two</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the same night that Princess Emma Ruth Nolan scaled down the walls of the Roman Embassy and stole into a moonlit foreign city, giddy on her first taste of true freedom, British journalist Kilian Jones found himself still envisioning her beguiling eyes and pert little chin tipped up at him imperiously, even hours after she had almost literally stumbled right into his arms. Intoxicating, was what the memory was, lingering upon his senses and cutting through the haze of ordinary days - similar assignments, bland stories, little challenge - that his life had become. She had weighed next to nothing; a tiny little sprite of a woman, and yet her power was obvious. One look and she could have pushed him right over with a fingertip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oy, Jones! ‘Ya in or out, mate?” Will’s bawdy voice broke into his reliving of the moment with the princess, her soft skin and scent of apples at the state dinner, and returned him rather rudely to the backroom card game to which he should be paying rather more attention. Photographer Will Scarlet, his frequent collaborator on assignment, and almost guaranteed companion on any after hours excitement, was grinning at him knowingly as the nightwatchman, the boardinghouse owner, and two others drafted for the night’s game waited expectantly for him to play his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking the much-more-pleasant vision from his mind, Killian forced himself to focus on the cards and chips before him, and the smirking faces. Sharks, the whole lot of them, and Will bloody Scarlet most of all. There were countless nights he had won every cent brought to the table by this lot with his uncanny ability to read each one and a healthy dose of luck - but it would seem that fickle lady had turned on him this night, or expended her efforts earlier in a different way, as the cards in his hand seemed essentially useless. And those gathered around him were watching like jackals, eager to regain some of their own with a win against him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I fold,” he announced with a resigned huff, falling back to slump in his chair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A whoop from Will went up following his withdrawal from the playing field, and Jones was certain his rather annoying compatriot was already imagining shoveling the gathered pile of winnings into his own pockets. However, a few more minutes’ play revealed their landlord at the rented piazza as the one claiming victory, crowing over the gripes and groans of his competitors that the better man had triumphed. Killian couldn’t truly say he minded; not when he was well aware that his rent on the room he occupied was two weeks’ overdue and this influx of the money should put the man in a more forgiving and magnanimous mood until pay for his next assignment arrived.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Which should be tomorrow,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jones reminded himself as he stood and snagged his jacket from the back of his chair and swung it over one shoulder. He needed a bit of time to himself, to stretch his legs and get a breath of the night air, before he returned to write up the entry on the state dinner to be placed on his boss’ desk in the morning. But even after dark, the heat of a day in the Roman sun still lingered in a muggy remnant. He doubted he would want the extra layer, nor even to roll down the sleeves of his shirt currently pushed up to his elbows. “Cheers, gents,” he quipped with a playful mock salute. “I’ll be taking my leave.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Will looked up from his rather comical pout of annoyance at the recent monetary loss. “Remember, we’re to meet at headquarters for our new assignment at 9:00.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, I’ll remember,” Killian jibed back, finding it rather funny that the erstwhile younger man thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one unlikely to be at the appointed destination. “You’d do well to lay off the vino and make sure you see yourself at headquarters in time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Will groused, waving him off as his attention had already gone back to the cards in his newly dealt hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head with an amused sort of grudging affection, Killian nodded to the rest of them and made his way to the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he had expected, the night outside was balmy and strewn across with stars, but Killian was grateful that at least a cooling breeze was stirring, and he could feel it ruffling his hair and brushing across his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>He hadn’t traveled far along the late night sidewalks,</span> <span>listening to the sounds filtering in from a distance on the night air - fireworks exploding somewhere, music and laughter from down by the quay where people gathered for nightly parties on houseboats, and even this late, he heard the clink of bottles as waiters brought wine and diners toasted at outdoor cafes. However, as he stepped nearer the low wall along his path bordering an ornamental fountain, he noticed a rather conspicuous bundle on the bricked surface. Drawing near curiously, Killian pulled back, startled to discover it was a young woman, lying curled up on the stone barrier, legs tucked under her rather posh-looking white cape, and most of her face hidden by the fluffy collar.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though he had been in Rome for some time and found it to be a generally welcoming and safe city, there was no sense in inviting trouble. What was a young woman looking this unawares doing out here sleeping alone?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Reigning in the dashing rogue impulse which had him itching to take her in and see her back safely to where she belonged, Killian stood there warring with himself, trying to shrug off the scene before him and pass on by. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was no use though - even knowing the sort of inconvenience and difficulty he might well be inviting - he could not simply leave her out in the elements. Bending to gently shake the sleeping form’s shoulder, he tried to wake her. After the effort of a couple more shakes, the woman finally stirred, one arm leaving the drape of her overlarge coat to stretch. The ridiculous snowy material fell back to reveal her face as eyes squinched and a button nose scrunched up with the wide yawn splitting her pretty features. As the eyes before him blinked hazily open to reveal a bleary, but still sparkling green, Killian realized with a start that he knew the sleeper. It was the Princess he had caught mid-stumble mere hours before!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her sculpted brows arched at him quizzically, and though she had come to sit precariously upright, she seemed to be wavering slightly from side to side. Not sure if she was tipsy from drink or just overtired, Killian decided in an instant not to mention her title, or even let on that he knew who she was. It would seem he would have more than enough on his hands to get her indoors and safely into a bed for the night. He wondered idly where the attendants and advisors and bodyguards that must always surround her were now, but the Princess didn’t appear able to explain. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he was debating how to proceed, she squinted up at him, looking much like he did - as though some fragment of recognition was tugging on the edge of her memory. “Do I know you?” she slurred, leaning so far to one side that Killian though she was going to topple from her perch, only for her to jerk back upright sharply, then start to list in the other direction. “You look awfully, flam - famlil - familiar,” she mumbled on an afterthought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He held back the jovial chuckle he felt at that, but barely. “Come now, Lass. Don’t you think you’d remember meeting a handsome gent like meself?” he quipped back, reaching out to tuck the cape more securely around her shoulders and awkwardly studying the ribbons crisscrossing up her ankles to secure the sandals on her feet..</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You think pretty highly of yourself there, don’t you?” she drawled, still not completely awake, but coming out of her drowsy fog enough to snort at him disparagingly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I do,” he shrugged, giving her that one. “Come now, let’s get you back to your abode,” he urged, trying to move her forward while she was somewhat aware. “Find your pocketbook, and I’ll hail you a cab.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head petulantly, like a willful child. “Can’t,” she countered his words simply. “I never carry money.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Disbelieving that anyone could be so naive and oblivious alone at night in the heart of Rome, Killian shook his head with a scoff at her words, responding lightly - sure she must be toying with him and answering in kind. “Well, Lass, that’s a bad habit, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The lovely blonde waif before him tilted her head curiously, as if trying to process his rebuke. Her wide green eyes blinking owlishly at him made clear that she was still not fully awake, and yet that didn’t seem to stop her pert little nose from crinkling as she pursed her lips to speak again. “What would I need money for?” she trilled blithely, shrugging her trim shoulders and giving a fluttering gesture of her hand - which either dismissed Killian from her presence or shooed him away like some pest. Neither option sat well, and he could feel his irritation rise even as he tried to stay focused on the problem at hand - keeping a vulnerable young lady from passing out and spending the night on the side of a busy street.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here now, enough of that!” he chided, with more intensity than he had used before, placing his hands on her upper arms and rattling her enough to sit up and refocus her gaze upon him. “If you can’t handle some champagne or whatever libation you’ve been into, then you shouldn’t be out alone. Now, where do you live? You can’t stay out here, so we need to get you into a taxi and home to your bed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To his continued surprise and consternation, the infuriating slip of a woman seemed to jut her chin out against him in stubborn disagreement at the mention of going ‘home’ - or telling him anything helpful at all, Killian wasn’t sure which. And to think, he sighed long-sufferingly, earlier in the evening he would have sworn he would never see this very beauty again and was contemplating just what he would give to catch her in his arms once more, as he had when she’d stumbled in the greeting line, and now the second chance he’d wished for was presenting itself, but as more pain in the neck than stroke of luck. That seemed in general the way his life was most often destined to go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, thank you, I’m quite alright,” she answered, turning her head quickly as if to scoot away as he crouched down to her eye level. However, in her either punch-drunk with exhaustion, or actually tipsy state, she over-corrected and nearly toppled off the low wall she had been lounging on since before his arrival on the scene. Killian just barely managed to catch her against his side before she hit the cement walkway beneath their feet, and as though forgetting all about how piqued she had been with him mere moments before, his frustrating and adorable princess slumped against his solid support as her eyes slid closed once again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bloody hell!” he cursed to himself under his breath, gritting his teeth as he shook her enough to make those rather startling dark lashes flutter open a slit to let their sparkling jade just barely peek into visibility. “Come on now, where are you staying?” he demanded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He received only an incoherent mumble for his effort, and finally realized that anything more was a futile pipe dream for the moment. Resolving that she would have to come with him for the time being, Killian flagged down a late-running cab, and though the cabbie side-eyed him hefting a seemingly dead-to-the-world young woman into his arms and then laying her gently in the backseat of his conveyance, a sharp look from Killian forestalled any questions. He gave the address of his rental, and they were off. Whatever this Italian cab driver might be imagining, Killian could not have left her in the road for anyone else to stumble upon and handle with less care.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, the cab had returned him, and his oblivious charge - her blonde head now resting on his shoulder as she went back to sleep sitting up and leaned over against him in her slumbering state, mouth slightly open as she emitted the tiniest wheeze of a snore - back to his temporary dwelling. Taken aback and unsure whether to be charmed or annoyed, Killian could hardly help it when he glanced down to take in her delicate features and found himself marveling again at her presence there. She seemed woefully naive and unaware, and the surge of protectiveness welling up in his chest as he brushed a flyaway strand of gold out of her face and shot a warning look at the cabbie who watched him knowingly in the rearview mirror, had him scolding himself for his stupidity. Clearly her cossetted and spoiled royal life had made her used to the finer things and rarified circles of acquaintance.  He snorted in disbelief, shaking his head again at her preposterous ‘I never carry money’ statement. She must have bodyguards, assistants, secretaries, who knew how many helpers and minders if she could be so blithely careless. He could see that her clothing was finely made - simple in cut and color, but the sort of simplicity that spoke of such quality there was no need to show off. Excellence spoke for itself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Himself, on the other hand... Killian sighed as he tore his gaze from her pretty face in repose and stared out at the dark Roman streets rushing by. He was barely getting by on a shoestring budget, living from one byline to the next. Whatever this hapless ingenue presently cuddled up to him was used to, he certainly couldn’t provide it. Not that he should even want to, his more practical side snapped back in irritation. The sooner he figured out where the Princess was currently staying and saw her back there in one piece, the better. If he mangled this article about the state dinner, which was closer to being due every moment, he wasn’t sure his editor would be willing to extend one more last chance. He had no time for daydreaming about doe-eyed beauties with no common sense or survival instinct, nor was he fit to be anyone’s guardian angel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The car pulled up in the circular drive outside the villa where he had rented his apartment for his two weeks’ stay. Reluctantly paying the cabbie what seemed an exorbitant sum, Killian wrestled with trying to heave the surprisingly heavy deadweight of a princess, now seemingly out for the night in sleep, out of the taxi’s backseat. He was tempted to pinch her sharply and force her to get out on her own two feet, particularly as he sensed the cab driver silently laughing at his predicament, but eventually he managed to slide his hands under her and lift her out with one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Her head came to rest upon his shoulder, her warm exhalations of breath tickling his cheek and causing a frisson of attraction to run through him. Killian gritted his teeth and prayed for strength.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It thankfully took little time to get his charge up the stairs and in his room without being seen by his nosey landlord or any other lodgers, but as he kicked the door closed behind him, Jones had to wonder what to do with the young lady sleeping in his arms. As if sensing his indecision, just then she wriggled in his grip, cuddling closer to his chest and rubbing her face into the hair exposed by his unbuttoned shirt collar, making a hand come up groggily to rub her face before mumbling sluggishly, “Come on, let’s get in bed. Aren’t you sleepy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Certainly no green youth, Killian still colored red from the back of his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. Trying to calm his more-than-inconvenient libido, stirred to life by her unintentional invitation, he sighed once more before laying Princess Emma down on his own bed and then stepping back quickly to put a bit of distance between them. She, for her part, gave a satisfied little hum of pleasure, curling into the pillow and blankets like a contented kitten, while he was left shaking his head and resigning himself to a night spent in the easy chair in the corner of the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a seat, he untied and removed his shoes and socks, setting them beside the chair, then, with a quick glance over his shoulder to assure himself his unexpected guest was still sleeping soundly, he slipped into the adjoining restroom to brush his teeth and strip down to his boxers. Re-entering the main room, he rummaged in the closet and drawers until he found a rumpled white T-shirt to add to the pajama ensemble he usually skipped, stole one of the blankets his guest had kicked to the foot of his bed, and pushed the footstool closer to his chair so that he could at least put his feet up as he attempted to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was just getting settled in his hardly comfortable makeshift bed and tucking the blanket up around his shoulders, when he eyes caught sight of the blouse, skirt, and stockings dropped on the floor beside his bed she had taken over. She must have decided to shed her clothing layers while he had been changing. Even as he was scratching a nervous spot behind his ear, knowing she must be in a shift, her undergarments, or less, the lovely royal in his bed sat up with a languid stretch. His sheets pooled at her waist to reveal a silky slip clinging to her delicate figure. Blearily she found his gaze across the room, blinking as though to force herself fully awake, before she murmured quietly, her voice a husky, groggy purr, “It’s the oddest thing. I’ve never been alone with a man, even in my dress. Without my dress, it’s m-most unusual…” The slurry quality of her still half-slumbered words made him smile inspite of his discomfort. “But I don’t seem to mind. Do you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Killian felt a certain part of himself very distinctly minding her state of undress, and he was intensely glad for the blanket he had wrapped around himself. Yet, despite his checkered pedigree and past, and the rakish rogue he sometimes played with colleagues and friends, he did pride himself and make the effort to be a gentleman. Giving a small dip of his chin in a nod to her, one side of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile as he sardonically replied, “Don’t mind me, Love. As long as you’re comfortable. I only live here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Completely missing the wry sarcasm in his words and tone in her somnabulent state, she bobbed her head smartly in agreement and happily plopped back down on the pillow, curled up once again, and returned to her slumber.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for Killian to realize this chance for sleep had been lost and he wouldn’t find any calm or peace, nor would the heat which had bloomed unbidden beneath his skin abate unless he removed himself from the space where he could do nothing but watch the rise and fall of her curves beneath the covers. So he rose and left the rented apartment again, seeking some fresh air and some much-needed coffee.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he was returning to his quarters again in the pink-scattered gray dawn with a second coffee for himself as well as one for his guest, and a bag with two cannoli, that he realized fully just of extent of the hole he had fallen into. As he was nearly to the villa with his block of apartments once more, he caught a glimpse of the papers on the newsstand at the corner. A headline on the nearest one blared: “Princess Emma Takes to her Sick Bed; Romans Worry They’ve Missed Their Chance” and another trumpeted “Young Misthavian Royal’s First Solo Trip Marred by Illness in Italy”. A foreboding sense of dread seized him, and suddenly he needed to know what the official word was - not to mention just what he was going to do. Because the Misthavian Princess was certainly not in her royal sick bed, but his rented one, and as far as he could tell she was not in the least bit sick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Completely discarding his vague plan to wake the young monarch he’d housed for the night, feed her, ply her with coffee, and send her on her way, Jones tossed payment on the newstand’s counter, shoved one of the papers under his elbow, and hurried back to his room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he was back up the stairs, standing with his fingers reached out for his doorknob that he began to hatch a new plan. His job - such as it was - was never meant to be forever. He had suffered losses, and instead of pushing forward to the sort of journalism and art he’d once meant to create, he had hid in the place he’d only intended to be a momentary stop, stagnating and withdrawing as best he could from the rest of the world. True, he could send her misguided majesty on her way. Surely she would wake soon and be in a much more sensible and aware state of mind. She would know she needed to get back to where she belonged before paparazzos and gossip magazines learned of her foray alone into the Roman nightlife. Perhaps she would even be grateful enough to repay him for his offer of shelter and his effort to see that she wasn’t caught in the embarrassing state in which he had found her? Might she even grant him an exclusive interview?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Heavens knew his editor would leap at such an opportunity. There was no doubting that. The exposure of a piece like that done right… Well, he might have finally sat in on his last council meeting and attended the final soiree where he would need to recount who was present and what they were wearing as if it carried sacred importance. This might be his ticket back to the reporter, the writer, he had once hoped to be, before…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But even as his breath caught at the thrilling possibility, he was also reminded of the sizzling connection when they had touched at the embassy, as he had caught Princess Emma before she could fall. The strange combination of embarrassment, intrigue, and longing in her eyes had been undeniable, even as he had forced himself to move on down the greeting line. He thought of the guileless innocence she had shown as he’d helped her into a cab and up to his room - already hating the fact that if he revealed himself as wanting something from her, as surely everyone else in her life already did, that he would have to watch a bit of that pure, gentle light flicker and go out. Not only that, but he sensed something deeper there. Why had she been out alone? What could she have wanted, or been trying to escape, which would not have been provided for her? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Could he truly be that self-serving? He hated that he had even considered it. Shaking his head to dismiss the mercenary urge from progressing any further, Killian opened the door and stepped into the room. It was time to see just what the runaway heir of Misthavia had to say.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Part Three</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Killian Jones opened the door to his rented villa, he was thrown for yet another loop the moment he crossed the threshold. Not only was the erstwhile Princess no longer asleep - nor did she appear to be at all bleary or hungover as he might have expected. Instead Emma Nolan looked fresh and bright-eyed, face scrubbed clean of makeup and sleep, hair combed and neatly parted to one side in a shiny golden wave over her shoulders. She was dressed in her slightly rumpled clothes from the night before, but her flawless poise (quite probably drilled into her from birth, he supposed) kept her from looking much the worse for wear. Even as she caught his eye and shot to her feet abruptly, she was graceful, though she might not be sure what he wanted or able to remember how comfortable she had seemed in his presence a few hours before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had clearly been in the midst of quickly trying to gather her coat and shoes to make a hasty exit, but had been hung up by being unable to locate the stockings she had tossed away the previous night. “Pardon me,” she offered, eyes darting all around the room, yet refusing to rest on his face for any period of time. “I was just leaving, if you would excuse me. I apologize for any disruption I may have caused.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moved to dart around him, clearly having decided to do without the missing article of clothing when Killian held out a staying hand, wordlessly asking her to pause a moment. “There’s no need for apologies. No harm done… Princess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His pause put the emphasis on her title just as he had intended, and Emma Ruth Nolan’s indrawn breath was an audible gasp, her perfectly rounded cheeks turned a fetching pink in an instant. Eyes of a green bright enough to blind his long dulled, jaded vision finally flew to meet his as she ascertained needlessly, “You know who I am?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” he answered simply, a quick bob of the head confirming it. “You’re Princess Emma Ruth Nolan of Misthavia… and I believe these are what you’re seeking?” He couldn’t help the slightly teasing smirk as he held out her missing stockings from where he had placed them on the dresser, nor could he help how he felt his extremities warming as her flush deepened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wordlessly she snatched the offending item from his outstretched hand and made to skirt around him to the door, her cheeks still flaming. Killian felt immediately guilty for teasing her - even as good naturedly as it had been meant - when she was already embarrassed and anxious. “Wait…” he tried quietly, hoping she would hear the sincerity in his tone. “I’m sorry, Lass. Please, wait a second. Let me get you a bite to eat, show you a few sights while you’re free of your minders, and I’ll see you back to the Embassy safely… on my honor as a gentleman.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, he wasn’t sure she would agree, her shoulders tight with tension and back ramrod straight as she hesitated, frozen with her hand on the doorknob. Finally, she turned slowly to look at him over her shoulder, the tiniest hint of a smile tilting one side of her perfect, pink lips. “I’m not sure that you are a gentleman, at all,” she replied archly, but she did take a step back into the room and her movements seemed a bit more at ease.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding in acknowledgement of her words, he arched a brow and tried to banter playfully back without making her skittish once more. “Perhaps I just needed reminding that I could be,” he offered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Princess Emma seemed to accept his response, even as Killian found himself raising a hand to scratch behind his ear awkwardly, realizing that in his behavior towards this beguiling innocent, the impulse chivalrous honor was indeed more true than he had even realized himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you know?” her voice broke into his thoughts curiously as she sat herself upon the bed to put on the shoes and stockings in her hands. “I mean,” she continued shyly, “how did you know I was trying to escape my attendants and see Rome for myself?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Possibly some hint between you trying to stifle your boredom at that interminable reception yesterday and finding you nearly asleep with no money or provisions on the sidewalk last night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She dipped her head again at the reminder of her less-than-becoming encounter with both liquor beyond a flute of champagne and the intoxication of real freedom. However, his next words brought her eyes up to search his once again, sensing he truly understood more than she might have imagined. “Plus, Rome is a city to be experienced, to explore for oneself, not to merely have to look at from a distance. I cannot begin to fathom what it must be like to have eyes on you every second, people watching and photographing your every move. I’d go made if I were in your place, Lass. Who am I to begrudge you a short reprieve?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he had finished speaking, she found she was blinking back the start of tears from her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see just how close to the achingly raw nerve within her his words had touched. So often she was talked at, talked down to, or talked about; the relief of being offered her own choice and recognition of its validity was almost shocking in its impact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, blinking rapidly, and if he noticed the slight moisture beading her lashes, though she did manage to keep it from falling as tears, he was discrete enough not to mention it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, to breakfast then?” he asked gallantly when she stood and needlessly smoothed the pleats of her skirt. “And a quick tour of some sights before we return you to your hosts?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He offered her his arm, and the almost giddy smile that crossed her lips was accompanied by an enthusiastic nod before she slipped her arm through his, resting delicate fingers in the crook of his bent elbow. Her holiday in Rome might be one day only, but she was going to make the most of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This reporter, Killian Jones, proved to be quite the debonair, entertaining, and informative tour guide. He treated her to an omelette, followed by still warm cannolis at a cafe al fresca not far from his rented room, and Emma found herself almost basking in the easy luxuriance of savoring the rich, flavorful sort of food she was usually denied - either for the sake of her figure, or how she might look if captured eating it and making a mess - the bright sunshine on her skin, and the decadence of being at her leisure rather than rushed on to her next appointment. When Jones got up and went to pay, she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back in her chair, savoring every second almost dreamily and wishing this morning might stretch on indefinitely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ready?” Killian’s voice interrupted her thoughts with a cheerful brightness that matched her own mood. Opening her eyes once more, she looked into his startling blue gaze and realized that he was entertained by how much she was enjoying simply eating outside and being given a moment’s peace. She couldn’t really blame him - to anyone else the moment she was reveling in must seem tiny - like nothing even, but he didn’t tease, merely awaited her answer patiently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They wandered along the crowded street together, heading for a point of interest he had mentioned up ahead. The street was full of people and countless stalls and shops of all sorts on both sides. Emma had been pleasantly surprised by how few people seemed to have recognized her - or if they had, none had troubled or questioned her. But she was grateful for it; it allowed her reverie to last just that much longer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her steps slowed outside the open door of a hairdresser’s shop. Curious, she peered in at the customers receiving cuts, color, and styling as if it were some sort of forbidden and alluring magic. “Do we have time?” she turned to ask her guide, almost pleading.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jones nodded, adding that it was her holiday after all. His eyes widened when she beamed and slipped into the shop, saying she wanted to try something shorter, “just once, when no one can stop me”, but he didn’t try to change her mind, merely shook his head and followed her in, taking a seat against the wall to wait.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before a sleek and sophisticated young man, dark hair swept back off his forehead approached the Princess, bowing effusively and seeming almost anxious at the prospect of cutting the hair of Misthavia’s royal heir in his simple barbershop. Jones watched the whole exchange with a reporter’s eye for detail, chuckling to himself as the poor, unsuspecting stylist grasped that Princess Emma wished to alter her appearance rather drastically. The gentleman glanced around the tiny shop as if hoping someone would step forward to instruct him in how to proceed - or expecting some contingent of security or handlers to whisk her away before any damage was done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Emma merely held the man’s gaze with determination, and assured him, “Yes, I’m positive. Can you do it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The stylist flushed and then seemed to pulled himself together, as if her doubting his ability had made his pride reassert itself. Giving her a wink and a devilish smirk, he seemed to throw off his concern and take her at her word. “But of course we can, Signorina. As long as you are certain. It is quite a change, no?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma beamed at him happily, the expression lighting her whole face. “It is, yes. A change is exactly what I want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shook his head as he continued to watch, realizing then that though she might seem vulnerable and naive, the Princess clearly knew her own mind - and how to handle others as well. She had played the Roman hairdresser right into her hands, and what was more, seemed to have irrevocably charmed him besides. He went back to the magazine he was idly perusing with a new respect for her powers of persuasion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Soon, he was looking up again as the pleased declaration of “finito” rang out and the Princess’ chair spun around to face him.  His mouth fell open in surprise, going dry at the utterly different, yet completely beguiling, picture she painted. Her hair had been trimmed to just barely past her ears, where it curled the slightest bit at the ends. In some ways, it made her look even younger and more innocent - like some guileless pixie who had flitted into the everyday world for a moment - and yet there was a jauntiness and touch of mischief to her aspect as well, especially paired with the way her eyes sparkled at seeing the effect for herself and reaching up to feel the lightness of so much less hair almost disbelievingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed ecstatically, clasping the stylist’s hands. “It’s just what I wanted.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bellesima, your highness,” the gentleman affirmed, bowing slightly again. “Do you not agree, Signore?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Killian snapped his jaw shut, swallowing hard and attempting to come up with some coherent response. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who was he kidding? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She had utterly captivated him as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While still somewhat distracted and stunned - still trying to gather his wits about him, truth be told - Emma began to speak rapidly and enthusiastically with the hairdresser using lots of gestures, smiles, and playful laughter exchanged, even as he concluded with wry chagrin that he was going to have to pay for the makeover from his own pocket, since she had already made clear the night before that she saw no need to carry money with her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Princess saw him beginning to leaf through his wallet, however, and reached across a graceful, cool hand to rest on his forearm, forestalling the action. “No need for that,” she offered with a playful smile and pat of her much smaller fingers in the lightest of pressures. “Jefferson here has assured me that mentioning his name when asked for my stylist will be payment enough.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sprightly Roman nodded, beaming, his eyes sparkling at her words as his expression flicked over to take in Killian Jones as well. Granted, he probably thought her guide was some sort of bodyguard or chaperone, and was looking to see if he were on thin ice already. When Killian nodded back, not sure what he was acceding to, but not truly in any sort of authority on the situation either, the barber spoke to them both. “Si, that is what I said. But, if you would also honor me further, Signorina, you might join me tonight for dancing, down by the water.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Killian could even speak to caution Princess Emma, or shake his head in the negative, already imagining the numerous ways that sort of revelry could go wrong for an unprotected, innocent royal like her, Emma’s eyes lit up, her whole face aglow with intrigue and longing. She wanted to go - </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperately. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was plain on every one of her features. He knew she had been intending to return to her duties and sheltered surroundings before the day was out, but when her beguiling green eyes turned on him, pleading, Killian found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, unable to speak up and deny her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Returning her attention to this Jefferson, with the charm of a Princess indeed, Emma nodded graciously, assuring him that she would consider it an honor to attend, at least for a dance or two.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, once their new friend - and the Princess’ latest admirer - had instructed them how to find the correct boat in the row of brightly lit ones which would be docked together that evening, Killian was able to manuever his charge from the shop without any more difficulty.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was ready to ask her what she had been thinking, to inform her that she was going right back where she belonged before she got hurt and it was blamed on him - and certainly not to such wild soirees on houseboats - but before he could ever open his mouth once they were clear of any who might overhear them, she took him by surprise once again. It was as if the beguiling waif had some sense of his wavering commitment to her day of freedom seeing the sights. Her arms were wrapped around his torso in a tight, exuberant hug before he realized what she was about.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you!” she exclaimed breathlessly, grinning at him as she tipped her head up to meet his eyes while still holding on tightly. “Can you imagine?!?” Her recently cropped hair shook right along with her head as she practically trembled with anticipation. “A dance party! On a house boat! I’ve never been to anything like it! Any sort of party really, where everyone wasn’t wearing suits and crowns and tiaras! It’s going to be amazing! The perfect end to the best day I’ve ever had.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she gazed up at him like that, so awed and happy, when the night before he had found her alone and vulnerable and obviously dissatisfied enough to run out into an unknown city alone, there was no way for Killian to issue any of the recriminations or demands that had been on the tip of his tongue. There was really nothing to do, but shake his head at how easily she had defeated him with a bit of charm, and smile back at her. “If you think you’re living now, Princess, just wait.” Swept up with the same enthusiasm captivating her, Killian pulled her towards a nearby refreshment stand eagerly, adding, “You haven’t seen anything yet!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Soon they were standing before a pushcart declaring its wares of chocolate of every sort, and Emma watched, thrilled and eager, as Killian placed a small cup in her hands along with a small spoon. She could already sense her mouth beginning to water, the word ‘chocolate’ all that had been needed, but as she felt the chill radiating to her palms from the frozen substance within the cup, her brows furrowed quizzically before she looked back up at Jones for an explanation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chuckling at her puzzled face, the reporter simply dipped his own small scoop into his treat cup, closing his lips around the spoonful with a low hum of pleasure. His eyes flicked back open within seconds, the dark, unfairly long lashes distracting her momentarily, along with the mischievous twinkle in their blue depths. “Go on then, Your Highness,” he pressed teasingly. “See for yourself! It’s called gelato.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not about to be shown up or appear unadventurous, Emma dug her spoon into the soft ice cream-type mixture and brought the dessert up to her mouth. The smell was divine; much as she loved chocolate, it was rarely allowed on her menu. There were too many opportunities for chocolate to stain formal clothing, or table linens, or to show up on one’s face in photographs - not to mention that her weight was closely monitored as well, largely by controlling her meals day in and day out. Unfortunately, that seemed to be especially true in regard to the decadent sweet which had once been one of her favorite things.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She could still remember long ago, where she had been younger, before she had entered school even, and certainly before her duties had begun to press her shoulders down so heavily, when her mother would sit with her by the fire. They would talk and laugh together, cozy in their nightclothes and robes, giggling together at the rare quiet playful moment for just the two of them. They’d each cradled a mug of warm, silky smooth hot chocolate to sip from as they chatted and laughed. Emma had felt so special, so grown-up, and so close to her mother. The treat had only made the occasion that much more heavenly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sadly, her moments of bonding with her mother, the Queen, had become as unusual and rare as her opportunities for savoring chocolate, but she tried to rein in the emotion beginning to sting behind her eyes. No sense in dwelling on what was long lost, and she didn’t really relish explaining to Jones why she was getting misty-eyed over a dessert.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Turning her attention back to the cool sensation and rich flavor flooding her taste buds, Emma let her eyes slip closed, savoring the sweet, enthralling cocoa as it melted and slid down her throat deliciously. She couldn’t be expected to hold back the hum of delight she released, any more than she could help noticing the way Jones’ eyes widened and his throat worked in response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After that first bite she dug right in, and when she had finished the treat, Emma found herself wishing to scrape the very edges of the bowl; this gelato so delectable she didn’t want to reach the last drop. Grinning delightedly at her new friend, who was clearly awaiting her verdict, the princess exclaimed, “That might be the best thing I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> tasted!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ever so glad you agree, Princess,” Jones returned playfully with a tip of his head in deferential agreement. His tongue peeked out between his parted lips the tiniest bit, its tip tracing over the lower one as if to catch any last trace of gelato he might have missed. She was struck by the irresistible urge to touch his lips with her own, to taste their sweetness for herself - as improper as the whim might be - and she fought to shake herself free from such a tempting desire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After their snack, it seemed as if Emma blinked and they were a few streets over, walking along a path only Killian Jones seemed to know, easy and leisurely in a way she rarely had the luxury of enjoying. In truth, she had ceased to care where he was taking her or what he planned to show her next. She merely wanted to drink in every moment as fully as possible, and pray the afternoon would never end. Tilting her head back when they paused at the entrance of a rather dim and forgotten alley, she turned her face up to the Roman sun shining down on her and bathing her skin in its warm golden glow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Killian Jones, for his part, had paused at the sight she made before him. His tongue was suddenly too large and unwieldy to speak around, and he hesitated to keep walking for fear of tripping over his own feet in his bedazzled state as he simply stared, unable to look away from her beauty. Though she wore no crown or tiara, her inner light, the sparkling nobility she possessed in the very fibers of her being, glittered around her like the most breathtaking of diamonds. Even if it were to his eyes alone, Killian was no less arrested by the stunning effect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are we doing here?” Emma asked curiously, once she was done basking in the afternoon sunlight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He snapped back to the present at her question, regaining his playful role as charming Roman tour guide as best he could. “Ah, well here is a unique and intriguing site indeed,” he intoned with a serious manner, belied by his dark eyebrows waggling mischievously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How so?” she queried, immediately curious and trying to peer around him down the cobbled path ahead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come with me, Milady, and see for yourself,” he invited, stepping aside and ushering her forward into the shaded walls of a wider walkway, quieter and less crowded as it had turned off the main street. “You see, the attraction before us, might not seem much to look at, but it has a challenge - a test, if you will - for the brave visitor willing to face it head on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Princess Emma smirked silently, eying him sidelong at the bit of dramatic license he was taking, but humored in spite of herself. They hadn’t travelled far before they drew to a halt again, but Emma had to first move her eyes from studying Jones’ expectant face before she could take in what stood before her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It too was a face of sorts, shaped sculpture-like into the alley wall; certain features protruded from the stone, and a mouth gaped open, probably once as a fountain or drain. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Mouth of Truth,” Killian intoned with sonorous gravity, watching for the princess’ reaction before elaborating further. To his immense delight, she seemed to be reeled right into the mystique of their surroundings and the foreboding mystery of the place’s name. She was studying the ancient face before them with dedicated interest and such adorable furrowed brow that he had to clench his hand at his side to keep from reaching out two gentle fingers to smooth over her creased skin. As she was clearly waiting for further explanation, Killian pressed on, “Legend has it that you tell it what is on your heart, then place your hand into the mouth. It weighs the truth of your confession, releasing those who have spoken honestly with a blessing and meting out retribution to those who attempt to lie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking up at him, Princess Emma’s eyes widened at the warning in his explanation. “Is that so?” she questioned, wary still but curious all the same.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding succinctly, he confirmed. “So the legend goes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Squaring her shoulders and raising her chin with the same determined resolve he could imagine her bringing to matters of state and pressing royal duties, she spoke boldly, “Very well then...Why don’t we try it together?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Killian felt his thoughts rushing confusedly. He did not, of course, believe that the Mouth of Truth would crush his hand or tear it from his body, but he panicked for a moment at which secret to voice. Should it be a hidden truth? Or could he risk a lie without her knowing? There were so many regrets, words unspoken, opportunities missed…  The question was, what could he bear to reveal?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As you wish,” he murmured lowly, dropping his eyes to avoid her probing gaze, which seemed to glimpse inside him more and more and all too well. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> a gentleman,” he bowed to her with a dashing wink, “so ladies first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She released a playful huff of breath, but didn’t argue, pausing only a moment before admitting, in little more than a whisper, “I do not wish to rule,” while barely meeting his eyes before her own fell to her feet, the long lashes hiding her gaze from him prettily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked almost ashamed of her admission, so much so that he wished desperately to comfort her, to ease the frown of discontent and self-recrimination he felt more than saw upon her countenance. “There now, Lass. That’s an understandable hesitation. Being a good monarch is more than just wearing a crown and smiling sweetly after all.” He lightly placed his index finger beneath her chin and tilted her hesitant face back up to meet his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was because he wanted so badly to make her feel better, to ease her guilt. Whatever the reason, as much as he should have probably been annoyed by the fact that she had anything she could want or need and still appeared deeply unsatisfied, wishing to give it all away, he didn’t feel that way at all. Instead, his heart went out to her… and was uttered captured by her. At any rate, he also spoke the truth, much more of it than he had intended.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, his words were released on a weary exhale. “I’m jealous of my own brother. I want what he has. Liam is happy and settled along the coast in Maine. He’s been able to put down roots and yet still feel the pull of adventure and the sea. He’s the lighthouse keeper, and he also enjoys the peace of home and family. Married to a dear woman - a librarian named Belle - and they have the sweetest baby daughter, my niece. It sounds sickeningly sweet, more than I could imagine meriting myself… and yet, whenever I think of it, it’s all I want. And I’m so bitterly envious, I can hardly bear to visit them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her pretty green eyes sparkled with a depth of knowing emotion that almost took his breath away. She took his hand, gently interlacing their fingers and offered a pained half-smile before speaking. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” she breathed, pressing her other hand to her own chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanting a life other than your own… and knowing it’s one you were never meant to live.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Head bobbing in a quick nod, he replied huskily, “Aye, that it does. It would seem we understand each other all too well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tilting her head as if to challenge him playfully and lighten the mood a bit, Emma brushed at a few rogue teardrops that had run down her cheek and neck. Pulling their joined hands toward the Mouth, she spoke with arched brow. “At least we’ll surely be judged as telling the truth…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At least there’s that,” he confirmed, moving with her until they placed their hands in up to the wrist at the strange opening of the sculpted face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For one long, breathless moment, then another, and another, they merely waited; hearts pounding, motionless, eyes wide and fixed on where their hands disappeared into the wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, Killian let out an agonized howl of pain, loud and frightening to her ears. He jerked forward as if some unseen force had bodily yanked him toward the wall. Emma screamed as well, terrified against all reason by whatever had possessed him. Her own hands left his grasp and the Mouth to grip his forearm and try to help him pull free. For a moment, in fact, she felt a sheer sort of blind panic, against all logic that a hole the wall could really have captured her companion’s hand. Crying out, she clutched his arm closer to herself, pulling even harder, until she felt the pressure give and his arm come back toward them; a gentle chuckle breaking through her thoughtlessly frantic fog.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes shot up to search his face, those inimitable blue eyes alight with mischief, and Emma realized he had merely been playing with her the whole time. Once more her gaze fell to his hand, free of the Mouth of Truth once again. He waved it playfully, pulled out of sight within his sleeve and hidden, as though it were indeed gone, before pulling the sleeve back to show his hand unblemished and whole, wiggling his fingers as if to asure her they still worked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A surprised little cry of affront escaped her at the sight, her hands smacking sharply against his chest in reproach. “You just see if I worry about you again!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There now, Lass,” he murmured, laughing even more at her playful ire. “It was only a small jest… Though it is nice to see how much you care.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking her head, Emma pursed her lips firmly, trying to retain the disapproving look she could barely hold onto. But she simply couldn’t do it while looking at his humored face and how pleased he appeared to have fooled her. Soon she was laughing lightly too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they moved on, Killian noticed - but wisely chose not to mention; in fact, he quietly savored the light touch no matter how unwise it might be for his heart - that the Princess’ delicate hand did not leave his own. Somewhere since the playful scare he had given her and her latching onto him, her slim, graceful fingers had slid into his grasp and laced with his. Rather than waiting for her to realize what she was doing and pull away, he merely kept walking slowly, savoring the contact while it lasted. Watching her closely, he saw her charming mouth curve into an absent sort of smile and felt her fingers curl in further against his palm. Maybe she was aware and did not wish to let go either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Princess Emma, meanwhile, was silently mulling over the truths both she and Jones had shared. Though their backgrounds, and the lives and duties ahead of them, were quite different, she couldn’t help but see the yearning, the sad acceptance in both of their confessions. However it had come to pass, she saw now that they both felt the need to be part of something real, something that mattered to them and fulfilled them, while for each of them such fulfillment seemed to be just out of reach. Having someone see her heart, and accept her in spite of its restlessness, would only make parting that much harder at day’s end.</span>
</p>
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